Late night watch
by Bella
Summary: Amanda got shot and Lee sits at her bed, waiting for her to wake up.


LATE NIGHT WATCH  
  
By Bella (1971bastet@gmx.de)  
  
"Scarecrow and Mrs. King" aren't mine. I don't gain any material profit out of this. Feedback is more than welcome. You know it's funny, how these things can grow to you. I used to watch "Scarecrow and Mrs. King" when I was a teenager back in the eighties. And now, 15 years later, I'm still enchanted with the characters. The dashing Scarecrow, the lovely Mrs. King, the bitchy Francine, the serene Billy and the well meaning but nerve wrecking Dotty. Oh yes, please bear in mind, that I'm no English native speaker, so please do overlook any and all grammatical or syntactical errors.   
  
Time frame: I guess second season.  
  
Summery: Amanda got shot and Lee sits at her bed, waiting for her to wake up.  
  
  
  
It's already late. I don't know how much time I have left. Your mother will enter this room any minute. I heard her saying she would just take care of the boys and be back as soon as possible. To sit with you and wait till you open your beautiful eyes   
again.   
  
Like I do.   
  
What did go wrong this time? It was supposed to be a simple job. Meet this guy, get the information, come back to the Agency. A rookie job. A safe job. Nothing to worry about. Tobson's was always considered safe.   
  
Billy and Francine still put all the facts together. I don't want to know who set us up this time.   
  
I already know what's important. You went there...and got shot.   
  
That simple.  
  
I can still hear Billy's feeble attempts to console me. ‚He knew the risks.' ‚She knew what she did.' These sentences come automatically, when we have to deal with the loss of one of our own. It's to protect us from guilt and pain. We reflect any possible responsibility.   
  
But it never worked for me. It never does, not really. After all, we can't switch off feelings. I feel responsible. I dragged you into this.   
  
That complicated.  
  
And now all I can do, is sit here and wait for you.   
  
What's that lock doing over your ear? I let go of your hand and push the brown tresses aside. So you can hear us calling.   
  
Your skin is so soft. Like silk.   
You are silk, Amanda.  
When I get heated up, you cool me down. When I'm so cold, you warm me up. And when I get in too deep, you pull me back and wrap me into that cocoon of your silk.  
  
While sitting here beside you, memories surface. It's that blue hour of the night. When you're alone with your thoughts and memories.  
Usually I'm attending a swinging party, dancing with some beautiful woman of Washington's high society. Or taking her home for that matter. Just to avoid being alone with myself when this hour approaches.   
  
But now I welcome the memories. I'm afraid, they're all what I'm going to have. . . if you. . .   
  
Remember the time when you had amnesia, Amanda? Well, isn't that paradox?  
  
Anyway, I wormed my way into your room, passing your mother. The overheard conversation between her and that doctor should have warned me. But to see you lying there with no memory of me or the Agency was scaring. I was already so used to the admiration and trust in your eyes. And suddenly you asked me to leave. To leave, when I was used to being welcome.   
  
I realise it was a frightening time for you as well, back then. You didn't know a thing about anything. You were trying to put your life back together with what's left of your scattered memory. And then I bullied into your life, when you were still grappling with the fact that you had stolen a car. Telling you you worked for the Agency. Pressing you for information, you couldn't give.   
  
You didn't trust me. You'll never know how much it hurt.  
  
I heard Billy desperately trying to suppress his laughter as I expressed my hopes to patch you up again. I felt pretty foolish myself. Here I fought tooth and nails to get rid of you and suddenly I couldn't bear the thought of you being out of my life.  
  
Like when you resigned. One second I yelled at you as an outlet for my frustration and desperation about that blasted microdot and the next one you told me you'd quit. Calling yourself totally incapable for this kind of work. I couldn't believe it. You wanted to leave me. Just when I started to let you in. So I clammed up and self protection kicked in. Go, if you want. See, if I give a damn.   
  
But you see, Amanda, you scare the hell out of me. You started to scare me the second you ushered the invitation for Christmas back at the Memorial. Nobody had ever invited the Scarecrow to a family Christmas dinner. You cared about me even back then. I wasn't used to that. See, I'm no naive. I've met hundreds of women in my life. And friendliness for the sake of itself, is. . .was a foreign concept to me. When women started to get friendly, I knew what they wanted. Either information or my body. Or both. Usually that's okay with me. You learn over the years to make the best out of it. To use this to your own advantage.   
But you...you wanted none of that. You wanted my respect and my trust. My friendship. A piece of my soul. A place in my heart.  
  
I never thanked Billy for forcing me to work with you. I'm inclined to believe he saw already the signs long before I even thought I was in danger. Retrospectively I have to concede I was. I was on the way to start sliding. Too many parties, too many women, too many drinks, too little desire to. . . live. I stopped taking care of me. I guess, if I had really wanted to escape the Russians at the train station, after I had given you the package, I would have. But no, I passed over to another player and stopped taking care of myself. I let myself beat up and covered with sarcasm.   
But then you came along, and Billy took the opportunity to haul me back. Forced me to take care of you, and by doing so, I started taking care of myself again. Sometimes I think it's destined for us to have met. That one split second of seeing and assessing you changed my whole life.   
  
But boy, you wrecked my nerves more than once. Your outlook to life. . . you really used to live in another world. Or díd... do I?   
Let's take Alan Squires aka The Dodger. He charmed you with impreccable manners. He was friendly. And in your world that stands for integrity. You didn't know it better. Your trusting soul didn't comprehend treason. I knew that sort of man. I met them in spades in my circles. You didn't. And what did I? I lashed out to you.  
  
I do it too often, knowing you'll forgive me every time. Like when I had to hit you to protect you. I didn't think I'd be capable of hurting you this way. I was shell shocked. Had I sunken already this low? Get the job done, no matter what? Push obstacles aside without thinking twice? No thought of consequences? Hurt to protect?  
You accused me once of becoming superficial. Of playing a game with lifes. Guess you were right, Amanda. But you called me back.   
And for that, I'll never be able to thank you enough.  
  
And what do I give you in return?   
  
I let you accompany me to some social events, usually when I need an undemanding date for the evening. Knowing you scoot, when I ask you to. Throwing you some morsels. Take you to a scenic tour in high circles. Like when cousin Billy Bob from Idaho comes up to visit the big town. And the ridiculous part is, when you do scoot and I do my job, you'll find yourself a suitor faster than I can turn around. And I get angry at you and jealous. You're not supposed to amuse yourself without me. I'm the one to take you by the hand and show you the big world outside of your four bedroom suburban home.   
But the fact remains, you never needed me, at least not as much as I need you.   
  
There, I admit it. The Great Scarecrow needs someone.   
  
You'd be perfectly happy with your children and your mother. I know this for a fact.  
See, very often - you wouldn't want to know how often - I come by your house at evenings. At the beginning I explained it to me by making sure everything was alright with you , after we had had an especially disturbing case.   
But slowly those few times weren't enough anymore. I needed to know what life was for you outside the Agency. So I stand at your window, careful not to disturb the flowers, and just watch. I watch you prepare dinner for your family. Joking around with your mother and the bickering boys. You listen to their stories. Give advice and a hug. Help them with their homework. You even coach their team. You are a ‚hot mama'! A hot mama, who tries to make the world a bit safer for her children.  
  
I even know when they have a match. I won't forget the day, when you stormed into the Q-bureau and told me all about how Philipp scored and led the team to victory. You were so proud. And I sat there and listened to you with an inner smile. See, I had been there as well and watched him with you and cheered proudly with all the fathers and mothers, feeling strangely out of place. Me, who is trained to fit everywhere!  
How many birthdays did ‚we' celebrate by now? Three, I think. Next month Jamie's facing the big ten. He's quieter than Phillip, the rascal. He's got a lot of your gentle nature, while Phillip's turning out more after me.  
  
Whoa, did I think that? I guess, I'm beginning to think of them as ‚mine'. I know their grades, countless childhood stories and what they like and dislike. You made me getting involved with your family. Even from far. You connect me with real life without trying to make a decent man out of me. Although you changed me for the better.  
I'm a better agent, or spy as you like to say, and a better person, thanks to your influence.  
  
But you changed, too. Some for better, some for worse. You can handle yourself in our line of duty pretty well by now. The day will come when you won't need your senior partner anymore, Amanda. And at the same time you lost your innocence. You've seen too much by now. I don't think a man like Squires could pull one over you ever again. You learned to distrust. And you lost some of that admiration in your eyes when you look at me. I guess, by now you've figured out I'm no hero. You know all my faults. But I still have your warm friendship and that unbending faith of yours in me. Sometimes when things get rough, you turn to me with that expression, and you make me look for that little bit of extra strength in me. And then we find our way out together. I lost count of how many times you saved my life.   
  
My pager goes off. Your mother is coming up. Time for me to vanish into the shadows again. For a short moment I toy with the idea just to sit there and wait for her to come in and see me with your hand in mine. To tell her everything about us. To tell her, that you aren't the victim of a random act of violence downtown. To simply tell the truth and ask for her blessing for our partnership. I can't imagine what it's doing to you. Never being able to tell, only to lie. To soothe the worries. I wish I could promise her as long as I'm breathing nothing serious will ever happen to you. That I would give my life for you. But I can't. At least not tonight.  
  
I brush kiss onto your hand and stand up.   
  
"I have to go for now, Amanda. Your mother's coming up. Tomorrow I'm back and I expect to be able to look into your brown eyes, partner. Sleep tight."  
  
With a last kiss onto your forehead I turn to leave this sleeping beauty. Just when I open the door to the staircase, your mother enters your room. Cassie Jennings looks up from her patient folders and nods. Nothing will happen to you tonight. You're surrounded by family.  
  
THE END  
  
  
  



End file.
